


Meet Cute

by Mogseltof



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Hate at First Sight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 08:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22847479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mogseltof/pseuds/Mogseltof
Summary: Years, upon decades, upon centuries, upon millenia of working together to make Autobot command a well-oiled machine. Nothing that good can ever start that easy. Prowl has a certain way he needs things done. Jazz needs certain parameters to get stuff done.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Meet Cute

Prowl stared in disbelief at the report in his hands. This was... This was unacceptable. What he could read was—who in the Pit would have authorised this, because he sure hadn’t.

The name at the bottom wasn’t one he could put a face to, but he’d seen it on someone’s door down the hall—new, everyone was new right now, the restructuring they’d been doing in the move to Crystal City was killer. It was late, they were well into the off shift, but even if the office was empty Prowl was going to nail this datapad to the desk with a detailed explanation of what was wrong with it. 

His field prickled with anger as he stalked down the hall and he threw the door to the office open. It was, in fact, occupied. The mech in question was a little smaller than he was, with similar colours, though a different pattern and (naturally) no enforcer markings. The visor that covered the top half of his face was a soothing blue, lighter than most optics on base, and his feet were kicked up onto the desk. Music was thrumming through the office at a low volume, and Prowl realised in the back of his processor that this was the source of the musical irritation through the day shift yesterday. 

“You’re Jazz,” demanded Prowl sharply. It was not a question. 

The mech looked at him, and the visor flicked black momentarily in a mockery of an exaggerated blink. “Yeah?”

“What in Unicron’s name is this?” snapped Prowl, holding up the datapad with the classified command level markings on it. 

Jazz turned his head slightly to show that he was looking between Prowl and the datapad. “Well, can’t say for cert unless I plug in, but at a guess it looks kinda like my report on the Ops mission based in Rodion that was completed two shifts ago?”

“No, it’s not,” said Prowl, stepping further into the room and narrowing the band on which his anger was broadcasting, back panels flicking out high to increase his physical presence as he leaned over the desk. “Do you know how I can tell, Jazz? It’s because reports contain information, and reports to me contain  _ complete _ information. This is not a report, Jazz, it’s an insult. And not even a good one.”

Jazz didn’t react, the music playing at a low volume in the cramped space of the office. His feet were still on the desk, and his visor was still pointed at Prowl. Whatever his eyes were doing underneath Prowl couldn’t tell, and his control over his field left it thrumming at a low level, no strong emotion present. “You must be Prowl,” he said eventually, tone mild. 

The music was playing from Jazz’s in built speakers, Prowl realised. He vented sharply, pulling his field back in. “I realise you’re new,” he said slowly, tone crackling despite himself. “So let me explain how this system works. Reports that come to my desk, with these markings? They do not contain  _ redactions _ . Any information pertinent enough to be included in a report is information I get, do you understand? I am the head of Autobot tactical, and in official rankings I am second to Prime—in day to day business of this military? I authorise every operation and no operation runs without my authorisation, so when something goes off book like it  _ clearly _ has here? I know about it. All of it. Do you understand?”

Jazz’s chin lifted slightly. “Everything you need to know is in that report already,” he said in that same, infuriatingly mild tone. “I did include all the pertinent information. Anything redacted is information you don’t need.”

“I’m sorry, was I not clear?”

“Perfectly,” said Jazz, tilting his head. “But you know, you don’t need to know any of the stuff I redacted. Or I wouldn’t’ve redacted it.”

“Okay, let’s try this again—“

“Oh good, you two have met.” The voice was deep and familiar, and Prowl felt Optimus’ field hit his back plating in that friendly, warm wave, with that alien edge Prowl still wasn’t used to despite the time they’d had since the matrix had taken up shop in his chest. 

“Evening Prime,” said Jazz casually, leaning forward to wave at Optimus where he was standing in the doorway behind Prowl. “Commander Prowl here was just stopping by to uh, brief me on report protocol, apparently.”

“So I heard,” said Optimus dryly, stepping in and placing a heavy hand on Prowl’s shoulders. He pinged Prowl privately, a gentle admonishment encouraging him to lower his back panels. Always on him to be more personable. “Jazz is our new head of Special Operations, replacing Flareblaze after last week’s.... Catastrophe. I expect you two will get along like a hab on fire.”

Jazz smiled disarmingly, wiggling his fingers at Prowl. “Nice ta officially meetya,” he drawled. “Look forward to working with ya. On you know, the pertinent stuff.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Optimus lightly, removing his hand from Prowl’s shoulder and stepping back. “Good job in Rodion, by the way, don’t you think, Prowl?”

“Yes,” said Prowl in a steely tone, flicking Optimus’ personal comm with several insultingly rude glyphs. Optimus sent him a single, equally rude one back, outwardly ignoring him otherwise. “Thank you for your work, Jazz, I look forward to our future collaborations.”

“Awesome,” said Jazz, his grin taking a turn for the slightly-too-wide-to-be-sincere. “Thanks, Prowl.”

**Author's Note:**

> I promised I'd write something where Prowl was okay :)


End file.
